


Like a Butterfly to the Flame

by Teese



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forbidden Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teese/pseuds/Teese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Marius Pontmercy never happened? As Cosette enters womanhood, she realizes that her love for her "papa" is quite different from how someone is supposed to love their family. Things get weird between them… Jean wonders what is going on with his little Cosette… how will things turn out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just an Exaggeration

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quite new to the "Les Miserables" fandom, and I started reading the book yesterday, so there might be some mistakes in here. But I'm not really wanting this to be about the book at all. I feel the relationship between the two is so confusing, seeing Jean Valjean is a somewhat asexual character, and I found myself wanting to see what could have happened between them instead of her and Marius, whom I've never liked much. It will be a somewhat long story with many chapters. 
> 
> Also, these characters do not belong to me, they belong to the lovely Victor Hugo. No offense to anyone. 
> 
> Feedback is very appreciated! and I hope at least someone wants to read this story.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jean Valjean had taken his adopted daughter with him to another country, all the way across the English Channel and to the largest of the British Isles. He had been determined to start a new life, once again, and Cosette had agreed. Often had she read about Great Britain and found it interesting to move to a new country, but realized the difficulties of it. The language was among the barriers that needed to be broken. 

They had moved into a renovated farmhouse that provided more than enough space for the two humble beings, and Jean Valjean had immediately taken a liking to their home. It seemed to be more challenging for the young girl though, who had seemed oddly distant since they had arrived in their new country. 

Cosette had been fairly bewildered at that point. She was only just entering womanhood, her body and mind changing in ways that terrified her, and she had no other women to share her concerns or to ask all her questions. Earlier she had had some girlfriends at the convent, and she had never felt embarrassed to ask them. These questions were different though, and she would never have dared asked anyone but herself. Maybe not even that. 

In the beginning, as they had only just moved in, she had been curious about the language and the culture, and there were a few neighbours she would sometimes visit. There were even a few boys about her age, and one of them had even winked at her, but she had felt strangely unaffected by it. His name was John and he was a rather handsome boy, one she would have been delighted to talk to back in France. But things had changed over the last few months.

Jean was worried that his daughter did not enjoy their new home. He had asked her many times, and the answer was always the same: “I like it a lot, papa”, but nothing else to it. There would always be a faint smile to her lips when she said it, but as soon as they stopped talking, she would sit back and stare into the room, into the air. How he absolutely hated that constant pensive look on her face, and although he was not aware what caused it, he hated it. 

One night, he simply could not stand it anymore. She had been staring at the wall for what seemed like hours, not even reacting as he had deliberately dropped a book on the floor, even excusing himself. Her reaction was non-existent. 

“Cosette,” he whispered, trying to catch her attention. Nothing happened though, and Jean rose to his feet with a weary sigh. With that, he moved over to where she was seated and snapped his fingers in front of her face, startling her back to reality. “Cosette?”

“I’m sorry?” she muttered and looked up, cheeks slightly red from what had to be embarrassment. He frowned at that, seeing no reason for her to feel that way. “Sweet child, I do of course realize that the wallpaper is quite dazzling, but you have been staring at it continuously for more than an hour now.” 

“Oh,” she said and looked down, avoiding eye contact. “I’m just… tired, I suppose.” 

“Tired?” he repeated, his frown deepening. “And you’re all red. Do you feel fine? I hope you’re not coming down with something.” 

“I-I feel fine, really. Don’t worry about it, papa.” 

She excused herself after that, heading straight to bed and leaving Jean alone with his thoughts. They were everything but merry, because he saw that something was bothering her, and he simply could not be happy when aware that she felt uneasy. But what could he do to help if she would not tell? 

As he went to bed that night, he could hear that she was shifting in her bed, unable to sleep and obviously not as tired as she had tried to convince him that she had been. He chose to leave her be though, not wanting to impose himself. Perhaps it was just something minor? Teenagers were often emotional, if he remembered correctly, and therefore minor incidents often caused them to feel a little down. He tried to convince himself that it was a valid explanation. 

Oh how blind he was. 

At the same time as Jean fell asleep; Cosette sat with her ear pressed against the wall, waiting for his breathing to even out. When she realized he was indeed asleep, she felt somewhat relieved.

It was time. 

The sixteen-year-old girl crawled out of bed and over to the small balcony, climbing over the railing and to the balcony belonging to her fathers bedroom. She was careful not to make even the tiniest sound, absolutely not wanting to get caught. As she stood there, barefoot in the night, she gazed through the door and found him sleeping peacefully, much like any other night really. Even if they had had a rather weird conversation, he seemed to be sleeping well. 

“Jean,” she whispered, her voice sounding insecure as she tried out the unfamiliar word, a name that seemed distant from her papa. She knew he was not her real papa though, and she knew that he was not aware who was either. When younger, she simply accepted things as they were, and he had been her papa when she had needed one. But then again, things had changed since they had come to their new home. 

“Papa…” 

She felt a yearning she had not before felt. An unfamiliar tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, almost like butterflies. She was familiar with the expression, but had always thought it to be an artistic exaggeration of sorts. Now she felt it looking through the thin glass that separated them, and she felt like crying. 

One single tear rolled down her cheek and she decided it would be enough for the night, climbing back over the railing and then finally making her way over to her bed. She collapsed there, completely heartbroken and exhausted from all the unwanted butterflies.


	2. Jean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter out! Enjoy :)

Jean was surprised to find that his daughter had left early that morning, the housemaid smiling when she told him the reason. Apparently she had been very eager to pay Mrs. Thompson next door a visit, who happened to live very close to ‘a certain young man’ who happened to have a ‘good eye to Cosette’, and ‘surely he must’ve picked up on that’. 

Jean felt like a lousy father to say the least. He most certainly had not picked up on that. 

He had been in his study, trying to get some work done, when Cosette had returned with bright pink cheeks and a very serious look to her face. Her eyes softened when she spotted him, bent over a book, completely drawn into whatever he was reading. She attempted to be quiet, so she would not disturb him, and quite frankly, she would prefer it if he did not notice that she had returned. 

She was about to withdraw to her bedroom when he spoke: “you’ve been gone for quite some time?”, which was more of a question than a remark. 

“I was just visiting Mrs. Thompson,” she answered, trying her best to behave normally, yet she knew he saw right through her. “I told Annie to inform you.” 

He turned to look at her then, those kind emeralds of his making the butterflies come back to life again, making her feel nervous. She was expecting him to be somewhat resigned, but she was greeted by a smile instead. It did fairly little to improve her situation. 

“She did inform me,” he told her, and suddenly she was asking her to take a seat. She felt so small and exposed sitting there, his eyes on her and her own eyes resting in her lap, once again avoiding making eye contact. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes, very much so,” she said and attempted on a smile. “Mrs. Thompson showed me around the stables today. She has the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen… I was a little bold, I must admit… I asked her if we could go for a ride.” 

Jean nodded, still smiling at her, but this time it came across as more of a genuine smile. He actually did feel relieved that she and Mrs. Thompson enjoyed each other’s company. She had come across as a lovely old lady, but bored ever since her husband’s death. Her family rarely ever visited her, and from the very moment she had first seen Cosette, she had been absolutely in love with her. 

“How pleasant.” 

“Indeed. And… well, she invited you to come with,” Cosette added. She had not wished to inform him of Mrs. Thompson’s wish, seeing she felt it would be good for both of them to spend some time apart. It probably meant that she should stop watching him at night too, but she honestly did not know if she could manage that. 

“You don’t seem so eager for me to come with,” he commented, trying to come across as humoured, but he felt uncomfortable to learn that she would rather go without him. She had been so distant lately; he almost missed her, even if she was right there. “No. I mean-“

“No need for that,” he said and shook his head. “You should go with Mrs. Thompson. It would do you good… and I trust that it is actually Mrs. Thompson you’re going with?”

Cosette frowned at the odd remark, asking a very confused “what do you mean by that?”

“Annie told me that you have a young admirer next door from Mrs. Thompson?” 

Cosette wanted to laugh at the mere thought of her going for a ride with John, even if he was pretty to look at and perhaps even more intelligent and kind than many other boys she had met. But she had never been attracted to John, and although he had plenty of good qualities, he was not comparable with Jean. No one was. 

She was about to answer that she did not at all care for John in a romantic way, but then the thought crossed her mind. It would be a perfect excuse for her absent-mindedness over the last few months, and he would never suspect that anything was wrong with her. 

“How does Annie know about him?” she asked and rolled her eyes. “And no, I’m not going for a ride with him…” 

“Good,” Jean answered, a thin smile to his lips. “And before you go… I just wanted to say that you mustn’t be afraid to tell me about him or any other boy, Cosette. I cannot stand to see you depressed.” 

She smiled back at that, although a little sad. “I know. Thank you, Je- papa.” 

Jean frowned at the mention of his birth name, but chose not to comment any further. She looked so nervous all of a sudden, almost as if she was about to dissolve. “Right. I have to start making dinner now. I’ll let you know when it’s finished.”

 

Once again the night had come over them. Cosette had not been tired, and she had not wished to go to sleep. If anything, she had wished to stay with him and watch the stars high above them, asking him to tell her stories, but never crossing the line as to ask for the real stories, the ones that lay hidden deep within him. She realized that chains that were now invisible but still present to some level had made the scars that adorned his wrists. 

She craved to see him again, but dared not ruin their relationship by having him see her. 

Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears that she struggled to hold back, not wanting to be so vulnerable or damaged. But more than that, she felt sick, even if he was not her real papa. He was more than twice her age and had spent the last years raising her as his own daughter. If he were to know, he would have been absolutely horrified.

She cold no longer hold back. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and the butterflies were turned into stinging bees, making her stomach ache with both want and shame. How could she desire him in such unspeakable ways? She did not know how she would ever survive it. 

 

Mrs. Thompson had made plans for what turned out to be a splendid picnic for just the two of them. She had been a little sad that Jean had chosen not to come with, and quite frankly, Cosette felt a little sad about it herself. As they sat there together, enjoying a very English lunch together while watching the shimmering sea, she could not help but to think that her father’s presence would have really been the icing on the cake. 

“How is your father doing?” the elderly woman suddenly asked, forcing Cosette back to reality again. 

“Oh, he is doing just fine,” she smiled and hoped to steer the conversation to a somewhat more pleasant topic. Mrs. Thompson would not allow for that though, because she had sensed that something was not quite right about the stiffness of her smile or how tensed she seemed at the mentioning of her father.

“Are you quite alright?” she asked and motioned for her to take another slice of cake, wanting for her to relax and perhaps feel comfortable enough to share her worries. It was not that Mrs. Thompson was of the curious sort, especially not around that specific family, but the girl seemed so out of it. She seemed like she could use some friendly advice. 

Cosette felt worried though, worried that the older woman could see right through her like that, and she realized her father was probably picking up on more things than she had originally thought. It made her feel awful – nauseous almost. 

“Yes,” she said, but her reply sounded forced and she immediately knew the other woman was not convinced. “Oh dear,” Mrs. Thompson said and gave her a reassuring smile. “Every woman has issues with the men surrounding her, even her father at times.”

The words were all it took for hot tears to burn in her eyes, and before she knew it, the older woman’s arms were around her, trying her best to soothe the poor girl. Cosette could not help herself, the comfort of having a friend to hold her making it hard not to sob, as she had been keeping it back for so long. 

“There, there,” the widow whispered and waited patiently for the tears to stop flooding her eyes, and eventually they did. Cosette felt completely numb on the inside, as if all the butterflies had been drowned. “Poor child. You don’t have to talk about it, but maybe it’d feel better if you told someone?”

She nodded, even if she was not fully convinced that it would be beneficial. But having someone to share one’s worries with would perhaps make the burden less heavy to bear? 

“Promise me you won’t tell him…?” 

“I won’t. You can trust me Cosette, with God as my witness.” 

“I know, I know… but what I’m about to tell you is probably the most horrendous thing you have ever even heard of before…”


End file.
